Perspectives on a Romance
by MadLori
Summary: A couple looks different to others than they look to each other. A series of nine short vignettes in which different sides of Reid and Prentiss's relationship are observed by the people in their lives. Follow-up to "How to Fight Loneliness."
1. Hotch

_Author's Note: This series of vignettes takes place after the events of my novel-length story __How to Fight Loneliness__._

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**HOTCH**

_Madison, Wisconsin_

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Hotch had to admit that the case was fascinating. It always felt wrong to feel any intellectual satisfaction or academic interest in a subject that involved the deaths of innocent people, but there it was. The UNSUB left cryptic clues in carefully chosen locations around the bodies of his victims in a way that suggested a ritualized form of OCD, and they'd all been deep into the killer's pathology since their arrival two days ago.

Hotch was writing progress notes for the file. Reid and Prentiss were at the other end of the table, sitting across from each other with both their noses buried in the casefiles. Neither of them had spoken much since he'd sat down, barring the occasional request to pass over a piece of paper.

Sometimes, when they were out working a case and everyone fell into their usual job-related roles, he almost forgot that they were married. True to their word to him, and his to Strauss, they were at all times professional on the job. They had relaxed a little when the team was out socially. It wasn't unusual to see them hold hands while they all walked into a restaurant or a hotel, and Reid's shoulder was Emily's favorite place to rest her head when she slept on the jet. But these things had become normal to him, just as normal as seeing Reid give a profile or Emily interrogate a suspect.

In front of the local police or families of victims, you'd never have guessed, and they never mentioned it. Sometimes it was even funny. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for Emily to get hit on by men they met on the job. Local detectives, local Bureau agents, witnesses, reporters. The ring on her finger didn't seem to put anyone off; in fact, Hotch thought it might have made it worse. Emily was a beautiful woman, and Hotch was always impressed by Reid's restraint as he ignored the flirty remarks and clumsy come-ons continually aimed at his wife. The fact that she always responded with polite disinterest probably helped. There had been one occasion when _Reid_ had been the target of a local detective's romantic interest. That woman had found out that Prentiss did not share Reid's disinclination to address the matter.

Prentiss set down a file and picked up a new one. "There's got to be some significance to these items placed around the body," she said, her eyes on some crime scene photos.

"Sure there is, to the UNSUB," Reid answered.

"It's so complex. He chooses the items..."

"He decides where to put them and how to place them..."

"Does he need that for satisfaction, or is it more like..."

"...a compulsion, yeah. We had a case before your time of an arsonist who was compelled to light fires based on her observations of things having to do with the number three. The crime was almost incidental, it was a symptom of her compulsion. That leads to the question of whether..."

"The compulsion leads him to kill, or if it kicks in after the murder's taken place. He could have an anger-excitation pathology that we've seen in other killers, but then have a compulsion that makes him arrange the crime scene like this," Prentiss said.

"It's like that one other case. The one in..."

"I know, I thought that, too."

"Except he was..."

"Yeah, I know. That changes it."

"Check for the signs."

"I did already, but you should look, too."

"Hand me the thing."

"Here. Oh, take this one, too."

Pause. "No, see, it's different."

"Different because of..."

"...the wounds, yeah." Reid sighed and put aside the folder she'd just handed him. He looked up at her. "You don't buy it, do you?"

"No. I think his urge to kill and his compulsion are separate and distinct."

"The kill itself isn't ritualized or obsessively organized."

"Didn't this happen with..." Emily began, scrunching up her face in thought.

"No, that's a myth. Nothing was ritually placed at any of those victims. That story was fabricated by the sensationalist journalism of the time."

"This case doesn't have much in common with that one anyway. Just a thought."

Hotch shook his head in bemusement as he wrote in the file notes. Could they hear themselves? Did they realize how much information they were leaving out when they spoke? He could barely follow their conversation himself, and he knew this case.

He looked up and found both of them watching him, identical wry smiles on their faces. "What?" he said.

Reid launched into one of his spiels. "You know, it's well documented that married couples develop a kind of conversational shorthand based on familiarity with each other's facial expressions, word choices and body language. It's thought to be an evolutionary adaptation to help support pair-bonding and the establishment of stable family units."

"Translation: we know how we sound," Emily said.

Hotch smiled. "I was only wondering when you two had started sharing a brain."

After a few good-natured chuckles, all three of them went back to work. Their silent research was interrupted by periodic bursts of conversation, all of it incomprehensible. Hotch kept his observations to himself. He remembered what it was like to be that tuned in to another person.

"Reid, do you..."

"No, not really. What about..."

"I don't think so. It doesn't track with the disposal sites."

"Well, then the geographical profile will need to be adjusted."

"Only if..."

"...the sites correlate. You know what, I'm actually thinking that..."

"Don't even go there."

Reid sniffed. "I wasn't going to go there."

"You were, too."

"All right, I was, but is it such a crazy idea?"

"Only to other people. Your mind is a strange place, honey."

Hotch glanced up. It was rare to hear either of them use endearments with each other in the field. But the three of them were alone in the room, there wasn't any harm. Emily was looking at him with an affectionate smile on her face. Reid dropped a quick wink at her, then their office-faces fell back over their expressions and they bent to their work again.


	2. Jareau

**JAREAU**

_BAU jet, somewhere over the Midwest_

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JJ was trying to sleep. The case had kept them all up for the past thirty-six hours, thanks to the UNSUB kidnapping a woman at two a.m. He'd devolved past using a ruse to lure women and was grabbing victims off the street, and his frenzy had led directly to his capture, thank goodness.

Hotch was stretched out in the seat behind her. Rossi was slumped in the corner. Morgan was on the couch. All three of them dead to the world. The only person not asleep (besides herself) was Reid. She knew he wasn't because she could hear him turning the pages in his book. Emily was out cold next to him, her head tucked down on a pillow she'd jammed between her shoulder and the edge of the seat.

JJ kept her eyes closed. If she could just keep them shut long enough, she'd eventually fall asleep, right? She had to. Or else they'd land in DC and she'd have to wake up for long enough to drive home.

She heard a shift and a rustle, then Emily inhaled sharply. She was waking up. JJ slitted her eyes and saw Emily lift her head, looking around with bleary eyes. "We home yet?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"No, few hours to go. Go back to sleep," Reid whispered.

"Hmmmm," Emily sighed, shifting to her other side so she could lean her head on his arm. His eyes were still on his book. "Did the mechanic call?" Emily asked, her voice quiet, still sleepy.

"Yes. It's the alternator. It's going to cost $600."

"Oh. That's okay."

"It is not, it's highway robbery. I'll replace it myself."

"Have you ever replaced an alternator?"

"How hard can it be?"

"Spencer. Let the mechanic fix it." JJ resisted smiling. They were speaking barely above whispers so as not to disturb the rest of them.

Reid sighed. "All right." He turned his head toward her. "Did you call Deb about the thing on Sunday?"

"Oh, damn, I forgot. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'll call her when we get home. Why don't you try to sleep?"

"You're not sleeping."

"I'm too wired."

"You okay?"

"Just can't turn my brain off."

"Still thinking about the case?"

"No. Thinking about -- oh, nothing."

"What?"

He sighed. "I can't stop thinking about that girl."

Emily hesitated. "I know," she whispered, in a tone that let JJ know that she'd been thinking about it, too.

"I mean, here we are, talking about..." He didn't finish the thought. "What if that were our little girl? Lost and scared, and..." He trailed off.

Emily slipped her arm over his stomach in a kind of sideways hug. "Don't think like that. You have to separate us and our life from the job."

"Sometimes it's hard," he said, looking down into her eyes.

She nodded. "I know, baby." She sighed and let the moment pass by before she spoke again. "Hey, let's paint the other bedroom this weekend."

"Okay. I bought the paint last week. Morgan said he'd help. As long as I get to do the taping off."

"You must be the only man on earth who enjoys taping off."

"It's meticulous. I find it soothing."

"You're weird. My husband is weird."

"I am a unique and beautiful snowflake."

Emily chuckled. "943," she murmured, half-lost in a yawn.

He kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep." She settled back down and her breathing evened out almost at once. "944," he whispered.

JJ closed her own eyes. She'd seen her friends' marriage in so many moments of high drama -- Reid getting shot in the arm, Emily's abduction by Kurt Harmon, their impromptu Vegas wedding -- it was somehow reassuring to hear that their life together was in many ways just as ordinary as her and Will's. Car repairs and phone calls and home improvements, and the constant struggle to separate themselves from the horrors of their jobs.

If they ever did have a child, there'd be an entirely new set of job-related worries to deal with. There, at least, she had some experience. She hoped she got the chance to share it with them.


	3. Rossi

**ROSSI**

_Alex's Bistro, Stafford, Virginia_

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Rossi was in his favorite booth, off in the corner, his back to the rest of the cafe. He liked this place for the privacy. The booths were tall, so no one's irritating kid would be peeking over the top of the seat at you, and the lighting was low enough to keep everyone's eyes to themselves but bright enough to allow him to read. His lunch break was one of his only chances to read for pleasure. He had the new Philip Roth, and sequestering himself here for an hour a day helped keep his head in the folders of horror he spent the other hours immersed in.

He heard a couple approaching the booth behind him. They were talking in low tones, but tense ones. Arguing.

As they drew near and sat down, he realized he recognized the voices.

"Can we not talk about it when we're trying to eat?"

"When else are we going to talk about it? I'm not arguing about this in the bullpen while we're supposed to be working, Spencer."

"Let's just...leave it."

"I am not going to leave it, this is important."

"I don't get what's so important about it."

"That right there. That's why it's important."

"Spare me the Dr. Phil sound bites, Emily."

"Oh, my feelings are _sound bites,_ now?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"How do I know that? Just magically, because you say so? If you care about my feelings then act like it."

"What about my feelings? I guess they don't matter."

"They'd matter if you'd tell me what they were. It's like pulling teeth with you sometimes."

Rossi could hear Emily stabbing at her salad, the tines of her fork making tiny shrieking noises as they hit the bowl. He felt bad for eavesdropping, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't get up and leave now, they'd see him and then they'd be embarrassed that he'd heard them.

On the other hand, with how blissful they seemed most of the time, it was almost a relief to discover that they argued, like any married couple. He squirmed a little at the uncharitable thought.

"I don't want to talk about it," Reid was saying.

"Well, too bad. You don't get to retreat into some book or research project because it's uncomfortable."

"Must we process everything? I think I liked it better when you'd just sublimate by obsessing about someone else's problems."

"Do not even start with me on that."

"Oh, don't _start_ with you? First you want to _process,_ but now I'm not supposed to start with you? Why do you get to dictate the conversation?"

"Because I'm the injured party here."

"You do realize you're talking to a man with an eidetic memory?"

"How could I forget, you remind me every other day."

"That is a gross exaggeration."

"How did we get off the point?"

"I still don't know what the point even is."

"I can't believe you just said that."

"Emily, please. Don't pretend I'm some inattentive Neanderthal who never pays attention to how you're feeling."

"Of course not, because you're the perfect husband and partner and if I have a problem, it must be my fault because I'm being unreasonable or oversensitive."

"I wish you wouldn't put words in my mouth."

"I don't have to, you say plenty on your own."

"Which you take in the worst possible light. I can't say anything right when you're in this kind of a mood."

"This kind of a _mood?_ That's a hell of a comment. Are you going to ask me if it's my time of the month next?"

"Why would I do that? You don't get your period until next week."

There was a pause, then Emily burst out laughing. Rossi smirked to himself. Leave it to Reid to inadvertently defuse a tense conversation with another outburst of all-knowingness.

"What's funny?" Reid was asking. He still sounded annoyed.

"You are," Emily said. "And infuriating. You can't let me work up a good head of steam, you have to come over all adorable and remind me why I like you at all."

"Oh, so you still like me, do you?"

She sighed heavily. "Yeah. Can't help it."

"Some days it seems like you try to help it."

"No," she said, her tone going serious. "Never. But sometimes you make it hard, you know."

"I know. I just...sometimes I don't know how to do this."

"Join the club. These rings don't come with instruction manuals."

"Uh...they don't?" Reid sounded hesitant.

Emily chuckled. "Do I want to know how many books about marriage you've read?"

"One hundred and thirty two."

"And?"

"And they all said something different, so I stopped. Besides, I was starting to feel like I was covered in whipped cream all the time."

"Hmm. Interesting image."

"Don't go getting any ideas. I remain steadfastly opposed to the use of anything edible in bed."

"You're no fun at all."

"That's not what you said last night." Rossi could hear Reid smirking. He fervently hoped they'd get off this topic soon. He'd rather hear the argument.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Are we okay?" Reid finally asked.

She sighed. "We're always okay. Fundamentally. That doesn't mean I'm okay with what happened this morning. But...we can talk about it later, I guess."

"Thank you."

"If we end up having to fly across the country tonight, I'm not dropping it."

"Understood."

"I will hash this out on the jet in front of everybody, you know. I am not even kidding."

"Never thought you were."

"Maybe we should. Hash it out in front of everybody, I mean. Be interesting to see whose side everyone would come down on."

"That sounds like my worst nightmare."

"What, getting marital advice from our team?"

"Like they're experts. Rossi's been divorced three times and Morgan breaks out in hives if you so much as mention the word 'commitment.'"

"JJ's marriage is in good shape."

"So far as we know. Anyway, I wouldn't stand a chance against the -- what does Garcia call you guys?"

"The Fierce Bitches of the BAU."

"Yeah, that. Maybe I need to form a club with Kevin and Will. Life Partners of the Fierce Bitches of the BAU."

Emily snickered. "How do you get me laughing even when I'm mad at you?"

"You're still mad?"

"I don't stop being mad just because you manage to distract me. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"I must be a little slow."

"Let's just eat and get back to work."

"What about..."

"I said we could put a pin in it, so let's do that."

"Agreed."

They went quiet. Rossi kept reading his book. They exchanged a few more words, neutral comments about the weather and work. He waited until he heard them get up to leave, then he chanced a quick glance around the edge of the booth. He saw them heading for the door...but they were holding hands.

_Huh. Even when they're in the middle of a fight they stay connected. Is that the secret?_

He snorted and shook his head. _If it is, you've learned it too late to do yourself any favors._


	4. Morgan

**MORGAN**

_Des Moines, Iowa_

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Funerals were a regrettably predictable feature of life when you chose to make your living in law enforcement. The agents of the BAU had been to more than their fair share. Not just the ones that were personal -- Haley Hotchner's had been by far the worst -- but also some for victims they'd been too late to save, local police who'd fallen in the line of duty during the hunt, and even a few for the UNSUBs themselves when they chose to die rather than let themselves be captured.

They didn't attend them all. They couldn't. It would be too much. But sometimes it just felt right, and they all felt that their presence would be appropriate.

This one was tough.

They'd been in Des Moines for a full week, a much longer consultation than was the norm. The case had been gut-wrenching for everyone. It had begun when a bomb went off in a church, killing five people, including two children. Then a sniper had shot three people at a local Little League game. Then a fire had destroyed a VFW hall where a Boy Scout troop meeting was taking place. The events had seemed unconnected, but then the file for the sniper kills had landed on Morgan's desk. He'd researched the local crime history and decided that the bomb and the fire were the work of the same UNSUB as the sniper kills. The BAU had set off for Des Moines, where the local detectives were about at their wit's end.

They'd forged a close working relationship with Detective Sheila Perez, head of the newly-formed task force. Perez was a rugged mother of two, no-nonsense but funny, and a hell of a cook. Her daily plates of home-baked cookies disappeared fast. Morgan had learned to stash a couple for himself before Reid ate them all. Perez had single-mindedly worked the case, immersing herself in the profile, the tipline, asking questions, wanting to know more about the BAU's strategies. She'd stayed late and arrived early, her teenage sons stopping by to bring her dinner and hug her before going home with their father. Her fire to find the UNSUB was only matched by her grief over the victims and her compassion for the families.

She'd told Hotch that she was thinking of applying to the Bureau. Hotch told her that he'd gladly write her a glowing recommendation.

But none of that mattered now. Detective Perez was dead. The UNSUB had, just as they'd predicted, committed suicide by cop...but he'd taken her with him. Shot her in the neck before falling in a hail of bullets from their guns and the Des Moines police's.

Morgan had never seen an outpouring of grief from local police quite like this. His own team wasn't any less affected. He'd seen JJ crying. Rossi had that grim, haunted look he got when he was trying to keep it together. Reid had just stood over her body while they waited for the coroner, tears on his cheeks, until Emily had taken his hand and pulled him away, her own face pale and tight.

They'd been through this before. But not like this. This was different. She'd been different.

So they'd stayed an extra day so they could attend her funeral. Hundreds of people were there. Her coffin was borne by an honor guard to the chapel in the cemetery where she'd be laid to rest. It was standing-room only.

Once the service was over, Morgan escaped to the outdoors. He had to get some air. Hotch and Rossi were still inside, talking to Perez's family and the chief of police. He didn't know where the others were. He just knew he needed a minute.

He wandered away through the gravemarkers, the tall monoliths that bespoke the cemetery's age. Tall yew hedges and weeping willows were everywhere, and groves of birch trees were scattered around, giving the gravestones the illusion of privacy. He leaned up against a rectangular obelisk with an angel on top of it and looked out toward the setting sun.

He heard footsteps, so he pushed off and continued on his way, glancing back at the intruder, a young woman carrying a bunch of flowers and headed off towards some loved one's resting place. He walked around a mausoleum sitting in the middle of a grove of trees, but when he rounded the corner he stopped short.

His married co-workers were standing in the mausoleum's shadow, tightly laced together and kissing the _hell_ out of each other.

Morgan was frozen for a moment. He was shielded from their view by trees, but if he moved, he might draw their attention. They only hadn't noticed him walking up because of their preoccupation. He just stood there, paralyzed by indecision, and if he was being honest with himself, a little fascinated.

Reid had Emily pressed up against the stone wall of the building. Her arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders, one of her hands tangled in his long hair. They were...damn, they were really going at it, the sort of kissing you got up to when you believed yourself unobserved, the sort that no one else was supposed to see. Open mouths and heavy breathing and not caring if you looked ridiculous.

Morgan looked away. He didn't want to be a creepy voyeur. But it wasn't like he'd come out here looking for them, hoping to get a glimpse of some clandestine making out. And now he was kind of stuck.

He risked another glance. Reid's hands were all over her back, his long fingers splayed out low on her hip. It was giving Morgan cognitive dissonance, seeing this. He knew that they were in love. It only followed that they must have a sexual relationship. But he'd never spared it a thought, and to be honest, he couldn't quite picture it. He couldn't imagine Reid doing that with someone, let alone with Emily. Did he have it in him to be passionate? Morgan half-believed that going to bed with Reid would be about ninety percent listening to statistics about the history of human copulation and ten percent a clinical laboratory demonstration, with helpful narration and possibly PowerPoint slides, after which there'd be a pop quiz. Or else Emily would be the one in charge, ordering him onto his back, stripping him and having her way with him while he just blinked bemusedly and let her do as she would, marveling at the strange ways of these human females.

But now, seeing him with Emily like this, he looked like...like...

_A man. Not a kid, not a nerd, not a genius. He looks like a man with the woman he sleeps with, the woman he loves, the woman he thinks of as his._ He was handling her with confidence, touching her with practiced ease and a kind of possessive fervency that left no doubt as to his ability to be passionate.

They broke off kissing and caught their breath, arms around each other and foreheads together. Emily's hands were on his neck, her eyes downcast. Morgan could see her chin trembling. She shook her head a little, turning against Reid's. He raised his hands and cupped her face, lifting it to make her look at him. No words were exchanged. They didn't seem to need them. Emily was looking deep into his eyes; his thumb was stroking her cheek. Reid pulled her hard against him and kissed her again, a deep and forceful kiss that she fell into immediately, melting against him. Her body language telegraphed her attraction to him and her comfort with his body. Emily always had an upright, controlled kind of posture that went with her personality. Defended and even-keeled. Morgan had wondered if she was capable of giving enough of herself to Reid to make a relationship work, but here she looked loose and free, surrendered to whatever grief or arousal she was feeling because she clearly trusted him enough to be a truer version of herself with him.

Morgan looked away again, having seen all this in a few seconds. It wasn't surprising that they might have snuck off like this. You didn't have to be a profiler to know that death made people grab at the things that made them feel alive. Naturally, they'd reached for each other.

He took another quick glance. They were still absorbed in each other...more so, actually. Hands were venturing into some places he did not want to know about. He judged that he could risk retreat. He quickly stepped back behind the mausoleum and walked quietly in the other direction, back the way he'd come, leaving his friends to their hidden graveyard tryst.


	5. Garcia

**GARCIA**

_The National Mall, Washington, DC_

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It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Perfect for a session of geocaching with one's honey.

"Over here, Pen!" Kevin said, waving his arms. "I found it!"

She hurried toward him. Geocaching on the Mall was no easy task. The National Park Service didn't allow physical caches, so cachers had to get creative. Most of the caches were virtual or photo caches. Sometimes they were devilishly tricky to find, and often were presented in the form of riddles.

Their hand-held GPS had led them to the plaza in front of the National Academy of Sciences, where a large statue of Einstein sat pensively pondering the mysteries of the universe. Kevin was crouching near a wooden bench behind the Einstein statue. She leaned over and saw a symbol carved delicately into one of the bench's legs. It was the Vulcan IDIC symbol.

"C'mon, let's get photos," Kevin said. He had his Droid out. Garcia sat on the ground next to the bench so the symbol could be seen. He snapped her photo, then they swapped places and she took his. Kevin's fingers flew over the phone's keypad, sending their photos and registering their find online. They'd be able to access the next cache only after their proof was accepted.

"It is such a beautiful day," Garcia said, inhaling deeply. "I hope we can walk to the next cache." She looked up to find Kevin staring up the sidewalk. "What?" she said.

"Isn't that Reid and Prentiss?" he said, nodding.

Garcia peered around the big Einstein, which was mostly hiding them from view. Sure enough, up the sidewalk a little ways were her friends, walking away from them up towards the Capitol, holding hands. It was unmistakably them. Reid's tall, long-haired figure and Emily's dark, glossy ponytail could be nobody else's. "Yep, sure is."

"Hmm. Wonder where they're off to?"

She met his eyes and saw the glimmer of mischief appear there. She grinned. "Wanna find out?"

It was a good thing she was already dressed for stealth, in plain jeans and a t-shirt with a nondescript barn jacket, her hair pulled into a smooth ponytail and hidden under a ballcap. She and Kevin waited a few minutes, then quietly snuck onto the sidewalk and began to follow them.

"Does he even own a pair of jeans?" Kevin murmured. Reid appeared to be wearing brown cords and one of his endless supply of thrift-store jackets.

"Emily claims that he wore jeans on their first date. I requested proof and have yet to obtain it. It's too bad. He's got a cute little ass but you'd never know it."

"Hey, I protest the appreciation of any asses besides mine."

"The chance to enjoy the aesthetic superlativeness of the men on my team is one of my job-related perks, honey. Hush."

They sped up and slowed down as needed, keeping a discreet distance behind their quarry as they paused at lights, crossed streets, and once stopped altogether for Emily to answer her cell phone. Reid wandered a few steps off while she talked, looking around and forcing Garcia and Kevin to take cover behind an obliging bush. They tailed them up the street until they turned and headed to their destination.

"Oh, they're going to the National Gallery. I bet Emily wants to see the John Singer Sargent exhibit."

"Maybe Reid wants to see it."

"Art isn't his thing, babycakes. But I bet he read every book on Sargent he could get his hands on just so he'd be prepared."

She and Kevin followed Reid and Emily up the stairs and into the museum, lurking well back. "This is going to get harder once we're inside," Kevin muttered.

"Leave it to me."

"Where are they going?" Kevin whispered, as Reid and Prentiss headed off to the side towards the security office.

"They have to check in at security and show their credentials."

"Why?"

"Because they're carrying concealed, silly."

"Oh. Right."

These details dealt with, Garcia watched as her friends proceeded into the museum. She and Kevin followed, keeping back far enough to avoid detection.

"What are we waiting for them to do?" Kevin asked. "Should we still be following them?"

"I don't know. It's kind of interesting to see them away from the office and everyone." True to her prediction, they had made a beeline for the Sargent exhibit. They linked hands again as they stood in front of a painting, heads together as they talked in low voices that Garcia and Kevin couldn't hear. After a few moments they moved on, their clandestine observers trailing behind.

They stopped in front of a large painting. It was a glowing, light-filled depiction of two young girls in white dresses with paper lanterns. Garcia watched quietly from through the doorway into the next gallery as they stood there in silence, contemplating the painting. She saw Emily lift a hand and swipe at her eye. "Is she crying?" Kevin whispered.

"Hasn't a painting ever moved you to tears?"

"Can't say one ever has, no."

"You just haven't seen the right one, then." Garcia was touched. She'd have to take a closer look at that painting herself. Reid put his arm around Emily's shoulders, then leaned in and placed a quick kiss on her temple. She smiled up at him and they walked on into the next gallery.

She and Kevin waited a moment, then went through and followed them -- except they were nowhere in sight. "Where'd they go?" Kevin whispered.

"I don't know." Garcia peeked into the next gallery but didn't see them. "Maybe they doubled back." They turned around to head back the way they'd come, but stopped short because Reid and Prentiss were directly behind them.

Prentiss was smirking at them, one eyebrow raised. "You guys having fun?"

Garcia smacked at Kevin's arm. "I told you not to breathe so loud!"

"First of all, ow! And second, I was not breathing too loud!"

"He's right, it's not his fault," Reid said. "We saw you at the National Academy registering your virtual cache."

"So you've been on to us the whole time?"

"I'm afraid so," Emily said.

Garcia sighed. "Well, this is a blow to my stealth-hunter ego."

"Why didn't you just say hello?" Reid said.

"Well -- you guys always have to be so professional at the office. I think it's sweet to see you out in the world, doing nerdy things together."

"You guys are doing nerdy things, too. Geocaching's pretty nerdy," Emily said.

"Oh!" Garcia said. "We were planning more nerdy stuff for tonight! You guys want to join, and we can all be nerds together?"

"What kind of nerdy stuff?" Reid asked.

"We were going to go to that used bookstore at Eastern Market and then wander around eating and eavesdrop on people."

They exchanged a look, then Emily shrugged and grinned. "Sure, we're game."

"Wait a second, I want to look at something." Garcia walked back to the gallery and the painting that had made Emily choke up.

Emily joined her. "It's called 'Carnation Lily Lily Rose,'" she said. "It's my favorite painting. The first time I saw it, I got a little teary, because it was just so beautiful."

"It's amazing." It was. The light seemed to glow from the image; Garcia could almost smell the flowers surrounding the girls. She wanted to step through it into that place.

"Sargent painted it _en plein air,_" Emily went on. "Notice the quality of the light? It's that purplish rosy light you get just before the sun sets. Sargent's models were the daughters of a friend, and he'd bring them out only when the light was correct and then paint until he lost it. He created this masterpiece five minutes at a time. He was a genius." She chuckled. "And that isn't a word I toss around lightly, since I have one of my very own."

They laughed and headed for the exit. Garcia caught the casual way they linked hands, the way Reid stood a little taller with her by his side, the way her body subtly leaned toward him as they walked, and was glad for having run into them. It was nice to see them out of the office and out in the world, being casual, just being them.


	6. Strauss

**STRAUSS**

_Hay-Adams Hotel, Washington, DC_

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* * *

  
_

Erin Strauss shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other. She wasn't used to four-inch stilettos. Nor was she accustomed to wearing evening gowns and enough layers of powerful undergarments to contain the Chernobyl explosion, but the Justice Department Christmas party had somehow turned into just another version of the Congressional Christmas party, which meant black tie.

It was a very nice party, she had to admit, even if it forced her into uncomfortable clothing. The banquet hall at the Hay-Adams was bedecked with holiday finery and featured a twenty-piece big band and, most importantly, an open bar. She was lurking nearby, waiting for her chance to swoop in and get her five minutes' face time with the Attorney General. There were rumors that the Vice President might stop by, but that rumor went around every year. No one expected anyone elected to attend this party.

She caught David Rossi's eye across the room and they exchanged a terse nod. That man knew how to wear a tuxedo, that was for sure, and the one he had on was definitely not off the rack. Rossi was standing with Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid; Strauss automatically checked nearby for the rest of their team. Jennifer Jareau, wearing a very flattering strapless ice-blue gown, was dancing with her husband, who seemed to be a fair dancer. Emily Prentiss was dancing with a man Strauss didn't recognize. Strauss grudgingly admired Prentiss's daring; it wasn't every woman who'd have the guts to wear a form-fitting red gown to a party like this. Prentiss had the figure to carry it off, though.

She looked over at the men again. Reid was watching his wife dance with whoever-it-was with a chagrined look on his face. Formalwear suited him, too. His tuxedo didn't look off-the-rack, either; it was cut to flatter his height, and his waistcoat matched her dress.

Their marriage had inevitably moved Reid and Prentiss into her mental category of "people to keep an eye on," even though they'd given her no reason for that opinion. She hated to admit it when Aaron Hotchner was right, but their relationship hadn't adversely affected their performance or the team's. In spite of herself, she was feeling a little more charitably inclined toward them with what they'd been through recently. She'd sat in her office well into the night while Prentiss was being held by Kurt Harmon, waiting for her hourly updates from Hotch, trying to concentrate on other work but unable to do so. She couldn't imagine what it had been like for the team, what it would be like for any team to have one of their own taken in such a way. And it wasn't the first time through such an ordeal for this team, either.

The song ended and Prentiss bid farewell to her dance partner and headed back to her team. Strauss saw her exchange a glance with Reid but she didn't join him, instead taking up a position across from him, next to Rossi. Both she and Reid were fidgeting with their hands, his in his pockets, hers clasped behind her back. You didn't have to be a profiler to see that they wished they could behave like the married couple they were instead of agents and colleagues.

She watched them talk and joke with their teammates, being professional, being discreet. All at once it made her a little sad. It was her own edict that they were obeying, but regulations or not, it didn't seem right that they should have to be so detached from one another at a social event, even an official one like this where they weren't supposed to be husband and wife.

Reid peeled away from the group and approached the bar. "Gin and tonic and a brandy," he said to the bartender. He glanced over at Strauss and nodded.

"Good evening, Dr. Reid," she said.

"Chief Strauss," he said.

"You shouldn't mix liquors like that, you'll become ill," she said.

He turned toward her, looking like he was trying to decide if she was joking with him. "The gin and tonic is for Agent Prentiss."

She sighed. "It's a party. The two of you should relax."

"It's been made very clear to us that we're to conduct ourselves as colleagues and teammates in front of other agents. Made clear by you, in fact."

"I know that. Perhaps made a little too clear."

"Ma'am?"

"It's _Christmas._ We're not in the office. It's not as if these people aren't aware of your -- situation."

"I'm sure they are."

She looked back to where Prentiss was talking to Hotch. "Agent Prentiss looks lovely tonight."

His face softened a little. "She certainly does."

She harrumphed, putting on a little haughty disapproval. "You should learn to live a little, Dr. Reid. This excessive devotion to rules and regulations isn't appropriate for a social situation. Loosen up and dance with your wife. If you dance, that is."

"I do, although not very well. My mother thought every gentleman should know how." The bartender gave him the drinks. "I'll consider your suggestion," he said, nodding as he moved off.

She watched him hand the drink to Prentiss -- then he slipped his arm around her back. She smiled at him and moved a little closer.

Strauss saw her moment with the AG and took it. She managed to eke out seven minutes and convince him to approve the new cybercrime task force before she got the boot. _Well, that's done, anyway._ She glanced around, looking for her husband, and spotted him over by the buffet.

As she made her way across the room, she glanced out at the dance floor and saw Reid and Prentiss dancing. The band was playing "The Way You Look Tonight," and they were swaying gently, holding each other close. She allowed herself a few seconds of silent satisfaction, then went on her way.


	7. Will

**WILL**

_home of Jennifer Jareau and Will LaMontagne, Fairfax, Virgnia_

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* * *

  
_

"Nooooo, Unca Spence! It goes _here,_" Henry said, removing the offending Lincoln Log and putting it in its proper place.

"But...Henry, if we put it there, the house won't have a door," Reid said, frowning at the developing structure.

"I want it _there,_" Henry insisted. "So the sides are the same."

Will smiled, watching this from the kitchen where he was washing the dishes. Reid and Prentiss had come over for dinner and JJ had cooked, so it fell to him to do the cleanup. That was the rule in their house.

"The same, huh?" Reid said.

"He likes to make things the same," Will said. "He'll put things in rows and categories. Loves to organize. He took all his toy cars and grouped them by colors, then mixed them all up again and grouped them by size, then it was back to color."

Reid nodded. "It's a characteristic stage of childhood cognitive development. His brain is learning to categorize and apply labels while he seeks ways to impose order upon a universe that he's just starting to comprehend is larger and more complex than his small experience of his home and parents."

Will smiled. "I just thought it was kinda cute." He put the last dish in the dryer and crossed into the living room.

"Well, it's cute too," Reid said, watching Henry carefully stack Lincoln logs on top of each other, the walls of the little cabin rising from the carpet.

Will sat down. "Sounds like you maybe been researching kids there, Spencer."

Reid glanced at him, then away. He looked a little discomfited. "It doesn't take much to get me to start doing research, no matter what the topic," he said.

"Dare I ask if this particular topic has some personal relevance?"

"I don't know," Reid said, sorting the logs into categories by length. Will wondered if he was aware that he was doing the same thing Henry liked to do. "Just trying to get my head around some things. Henry here's been helping."

"I can help!" Henry piped up. "You need help with the pickle jar, Unca Spence?"

Reid smiled in confusion. "The pickle jar?" he said, glancing at Will for clarification.

"Just a little game we play. Mommy can't open the pickle jar, then Daddy tries but he can't open it either, and finally we have to ask Henry to help, because he's the only one who can get the pickle jar open, right, buddy?"

"Right!" Henry said, pumping one fist in the air.

"Well, I don't need pickle help right now, but if I do, I'll know who to come to," Reid said. Henry nodded, his attention back on his log cabin, which was starting to look a bit tall for its perimeter. "Apparently we're doing cathedral ceilings in the log cabin," Reid said.

Will watched Reid playing with Henry. JJ had told him in confidence that Reid had been very definitive about not wanting children, which had been a disappointment for Emily, though she'd married him anyway. Now the issue wasn't quite so decided, it seemed. Will didn't know what the problem was. Reid was great with Henry. He didn't take cues from the rest of the world as to how to deal with kids, so he never talked down to him or babbled or made cutesy faces. He treated the building of a log cabin with the same dedicated solemnity he would working up a profile or writing a paper. Kids responded when you took what they were doing seriously. "Say," he said, "what's become of our wives?"

"They're talking guns."

"Guns?"

"Emily's thinking of changing her service weapon. JJ's showing her your Smith & Wesson."

"Well, I do recommend that gun. Can't remember the last time I fired it, or even held it. Funny, the topics that come up in after-dinner conversation when everyone in the family's in law enforcement."

"It always gives me a start when people say that. I don't think of myself as being in law enforcement. I know I'm hunting criminals, but that feels like a basic human imperative. I'd like to think that we'd hunt murderers even if there was no law against it."

"You have a badge and gun, and have the power to arrest somebody. You're in law enforcement, my friend."

Reid smiled. "I know. Maybe I just resist the label because of how much it bothers my mother to think of me in this line of work." He was handing Henry progressively smaller log sections to make the roofline. "Henry, let's put on a chimney."

"Yeah!" Henry said. "Where let's put it?"

"Let's get the roof on first."

Henry was looking at the cabin a bit askance. "Unca Spence, nobody can get into the house."

"I know. There isn't a door. You wanted all the walls to be the same."

"That's stupid."

"It isn't stupid. It's a novel approach to home design. You're an innovator."

"I like them to be the same. But you can't get in." Henry was starting to look distressed.

"Here, let's do this," Reid said. "We'll dig a tunnel out here, and dig it over underneath the walls," he went on, drawing on the carpet with his finger, "and you can come up into the house from below. So no doors, the walls can be the same, but you can still get in."

Henry's face lit up. "Yeah! A tunnel with stairs!"

"Sure, stairs. Sounds good."

"And an elevator?"

"Why not?"

JJ and Emily came back from the bedroom, where they kept the gun safe. "Ooh, what have we got going on here?" Emily said, taking a seat on the rug. JJ joined Will on the couch.

"It's a cabin with cathedral ceilings and entry and egress via tunnel," Reid said.

"Well, it'd cut down on your energy bills," Emily said, nodding.

"Emmy, help," Henry said, handing Emily two logs that were stuck together. After some doing, she pulled them apart.

"Geez, were those glued? Yikes," Emily said, rubbing her hand.

"Probably grape jelly," JJ said. "It gets everywhere and I have no idea how. I found it inside one of my shoes once. Just a little smear, like someone had left a tiny sandwich there for later."

"You like grape jelly, huh, Henry?" Emily said.

"'Like' might be putting it mildly," Will chuckled. Sometimes it was the only thing Henry would eat. Grape jelly on bread. Sometimes crackers were acceptable. If you were lucky, peanut butter as an accoutrement was permitted.

The cabin roofed over, Henry was losing interest. JJ spoke up to head off boredom-related crankiness. "Henry, why don't you get your new book? Maybe Uncle Spence will read it to you."

"Oh yeah!" Henry said, jumping up and pounding off toward his bedroom.

Reid watched him hurl himself off. "I'm afraid Henry's cabin may be structurally unsound," he said to Emily.

"Well, let's give him a few more years before we revoke his membership in the Lincoln Logs Architectural Society," she said.

He picked up one of the logs. "I liked Tinker Toys when I was a kid."

Emily cocked her head, peering at him. "You did?"

"You sound surprised."

"The idea of you playing with toys weirds me out. I have this image of you as a baby with journal articles and notebooks."

Henry ran back in, holding a book. "Can we read it?" he gasped at Reid, breathless with excitement. It was a recently-arrived gift from Will's sister, a Dr. Seuss that he and Charlaine had both loved as kids.

"Sure," Reid said, taking the book. "C'mon, let's sit on the couch." He got up and sat down on the shorter couch. Unprompted, Henry clambered up and plopped himself right in Reid's lap. Reid looked a little taken aback, but Will wasn't surprised. Laps were the spot for book-reading. Emily got up and sat down on the couch next to them. "Okay," Reid said, adjusting a little and holding the book in front of them. "Hmm. Scrambled Eggs Super. I wonder what's so super about them," he said, sounding like he was about to launch a hard-hitting investigation into the superness of the eggs in question.

Will felt JJ slip her hand into his as they watched Spencer read the book to their son, pausing patiently for Henry's many interjections and questions. Emily was looking down at the book too, but she kept stealing glances at her husband's face. Will looked over at JJ and saw the same thought on her face that was in his mind. She leaned closer. "I hope someday he sees how great he'd be," she whispered.

Will smiled. "Give it time, chere."


	8. An Unseen Stranger

_Arlington National Cemetery_

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* * *

  
_

The groundskeeper had seen thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people come through his domain. They came when they felt alone; they came when they felt guilty. They came when they had news, they came when they had secrets. Weekends were the busiest times, Sundays the busiest days. Holidays were the most active. Veterans' Day took him weeks to recover from.

The headstones in their neat white rows were as unique to him as the trees and the bushes. He knew every inch, he knew all the names. Had a good memory for names, always had.

Today he was clearing downed branches from one of the newer sections, noting areas where the winter freezes had heaved up sidewalks and dug potholes in roads so he could direct the crews to come fix them. It was early afternoon, a very quiet time. People were at work, and a trip to the cemetery wasn't typically on their agenda.

He heard footsteps approaching and drew back. He didn't like to be visible to people when they were visiting the graves of loved ones. He was a reminder of the business of death; they were here to mourn a life.

A young couple passed him, a tall man with long hair and a pretty dark-haired woman. The woman was carrying a bunch of flowers, her arm through the man's elbow. They approached one of the headstones and stopped. The man stepped aside slightly and the woman stood right before the grave. Her relative, then. She crouched and placed the flowers, then reached out and touched the stone. For a few moments she stayed there, head bowed. The man stood over her, looking down at her sadly, like he wished he could take her pain away.

She straightened up again, taking a quick swipe at her eyes with gloved fingers. The man embraced her and she folded against him, hanging on to the lapels of his overcoat. She seemed to be crying a little.

The groundskeeper had seen this a thousand times. People came to mourn. Often they came alone, wanting a private moment with their departed loved one. If they brought someone along, it would be someone very special, very close, someone they permitted to see them at their most vulnerable, someone they trusted to witness their communion with their memories. This woman would be even less likely to allow others to see her grief. He knew people. He could read them, and these two weren't difficult. Her clothing, sharp and tailored but utilitarian, told him she was practical. She had a tough, almost military bearing. The name on the tombstone she was visiting told him she came from money, so she'd battled the perception of rich-girl all her life. She'd walked up to this grave with a composed expression, carrying the flowers like you'd carry an umbrella, not cradling them like an offering but hauling them like a tool. She was independent and defended.

Not with this man, though. Him, she leaned on when she had to. He was taller but more delicate than she was; he seemed softer and less braced. He had awkwardness in his gait; his hair and clothing marked him as an academic. His emotions were clearer on his face. This was not his sorrow, but his apprehension as they'd approached was greater than hers because he dreaded her pain.

These two were married or might as well have been. The woman had composed herself and now looked up at him, putting on an 'I'm-okay' smile. He touched her face, wiping her tears away. He murmured something and she nodded. They turned and headed back toward the road, closer to each other than when they'd arrived, his arm around her shoulders and hers at his waist.

The groundskeeper watched them pass, unseen. The man kissed her temple and she smiled, sighing in relief at having completed her visit. The groundskeeper couldn't help but smile, too. One of the things he liked about his job was seeing people draw together in times of loss. The two people he'd just seen loved each other; it was obvious in their body language and their faces. People in love ought to shoulder each other's burdens.

He watched them as they disappeared over the hill, probably headed back to work. He wondered what they did for a living.

Probably nothing remotely like what he did.


	9. Emily & Spencer

**EMILY & SPENCER**

_a park bench on the Tidal Basin_

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_

"Okay, your turn. Umm...those two over there by the tree."

"They're having an affair. She wants out, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"She's still got her coat on even though it's warm enough to take it off and she isn't looking at him. She's working up the courage to break it off."

"You can tell all that from way over here?"

"Women can tell these things about other women."

"Sure, play the female-intuition card."

"I have to, you have the genius card to play. Your turn. That family over there by the water."

"You mean the tourist family from Wisconsin?"

"The tourist part is easy. How do you figure they're from Wisconsin?"

"They're Midwestern judging by their clothing and hair. Illinois is the most populous state in the Midwest, but 80% of their population lives in the Chicago metropolitan area, and these people aren't from a major urban center."

"How do you know?"

"Look at their shopping bags. They're hitting some of the major retail chains, more expensive ones than where they'd usually shop, which tells me they're taking special advantage of the access. They're from somewhere where there isn't a Nordstrom's nearby. So if they're not from the Chicago area the most likely state of origin is Wisconsin, which is the most populous Midwestern state after Illinois. Also, they favor their oldest daughter, the husband resents this vacation, probably because he's afraid of taking time off work, and their son is experimenting with drugs."

"Not bad, Dr. Reid."

"I am a trained professional."

"We're creepy, you know. Sitting here profiling random passersby."

"It makes me wonder how we look to outsiders. What do they think of us when we walk by?"

"You mean, besides 'My, what a devastatingly attractive couple?'"

"Or 'What in the world is she doing with him?'"

"To which she'd reply, probably having way better sex than you."

"Damn straight."

"It doesn't matter how we look to outsiders. I doubt anyone gives us a thought or a second look."

"You're probably right. Just another boring married couple."

"We are not. Boring, I mean."

"Yes, we are. To other people. Happiness is boring. It's only exciting to the people living it."

"Then I'm glad no one else knows how exciting we are."

"We hide it well."

"Oh, it's almost four. We better get going."

"Okay. Don't want to be late for another evening of being boring."

"Soooo boring. I've never been so bored in my life as I've been with you."

"I know, right? I'm practically asleep on my feet."

"Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope we're always this boring."

"Me, too."

* * *

_The end! I hope you enjoyed this little series of inconsequential vignettes._

_I'm not finished yet. I hope. I always hesitate to announce my plans ahead of time because one never knows when the muse will drop out from underneath and that'll be all she wrote. But I feel pretty confident about these plans since I have significant inroads made on them._

_I am writing a multichapter fic that's more of a sequel to HTFL, although it will not be nearly as long (maybe ten chapters). A BAU casefile element plus a personal story for our favorite couple, plus a significant plotline for Morgan._

_I am also working on a series of shorter stories (some one-shots, some like 3-4 chapters) which will all go under the title "Casefiles of Mr. Prentiss and Mrs. Genius," which will NOT feature BAU casefiles but instead will follow Emily and Spencer in their ordinary lives and the situations they encounter where they have to use their profiling skills in everyday situations. One of these stories, which is about half written, is about the trip to Yale that Emily gave Spencer for their anniversary. Another is about a life crisis that brings Emily's friend Germany to their doorstep at three in the morning. And so on and so on._

_As always, I post nothing until it's complete. I don't know which of these things will go out first, it'll depend what gets finished first. I wouldn't look for anything new for a couple of weeks, everything I have is like half done. Again, I recommend you put me on Author Alert if you want to be kept in the loop.  
_

_Thank you all for your continued support. Now go out and write some Reid/Prentiss!_


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